


Hate

by Trinkisme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trinkisme/pseuds/Trinkisme
Summary: Sometimes the innocent suffer in war. Sometimes they cause the suffering. But stronger than suffering and the hate that created it is the triumph of love. Dramione. **ON HIATUS**
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 88
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

_"Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet." -_ _Maya Angelou_

It was all his fault. _His_. But George hadn't meant to hurt her. Of course he hadn't. He'd merely been too devastated, too…. _undone_ to pay attention to those nearby. In his mind, there had been only one in the world. The monster. The demon from hell who had risen up from nowhere to kill his brother.

Unfortunately, there had also been Hermione just a few meters away, fighting for her life against an aggressive giant spider, one of Aragog's children.

George hadn't noticed. His emotions had become blinders, giving him tunnel vision and pumping him with a fire that was thrumming, boiling, demanding retribution. Not just an eye for an eye, but more. Vengeance…..nay, worse than that. _Punishment_. Torture of the most exquisite kind.

That fiend would pay for what he did.

Even with that, George never remembered casting a curse. He supposed he'd been reduced to madness. Later, all he could recall was the raw rage that had powered his wand with purpose and with an overload of unstable magic. He screamed, unknowingly releasing the full force of the savagery he was feeling, too fevered to grasp the outcome of his actions.

A crimson-tinged streak of light zoomed past Dolohov, the cause of George's loss, and tore through Hermione to finally be stopped by the sheer mass of the spider she'd been fighting. The acromantula immediately shrieked and crumpled upon itself, its lifeless limbs twitching even in death. But for the witch, there was no such easy out. Upon impact, she immediately stiffened, her back contorting into a rigid arch, her muscles helpless to counteract the instant agony coursing through her body. A moment later, she collapsed, gracelessly flopping to the floor like a broken doll. Once on the ground, she began to seize violently, her curly hair writhing like a nest of angry snakes as her nervous system found expression for its pain. She began to cry out, a pitiful wail that carried over the courtyard. Like the final keening of a dying puppy, Hermione's voice gave George a memory that would feature in his nightmares for years to come. He crumpled in grief when she hushed; he realized she was in too much distress to continue. An _occasional_ whimper was now the only thing she had strength to utter.

Dolohov began to laugh. "Bravo!" he cheered, relishing the look of dismay on the surviving twin's face. "I could not have done better myself."

Cold fury replaced the sorrow coloring George's features. The wizard before him had snuffed out the life of his brother and was now mocking the suffering of a girl who was as good as a saint. This…..this _thing_ standing among the ruins of Hogwarts did not deserve to draw breath.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" George roared as he instantly silenced the death eater's merriment. A brief look of surprise flashed across Dolohov's face before he dropped to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. George checked to make sure he was truly dead, hexing him one more time with a _crucio_ , his only regret being that the wizard was beyond feeling the cruelty of the spell. Then he ran over and dropped to his knees beside Hermione. He tried every healing spell he knew, even some outlandish ones he and Fred had created in fun, but nothing helped.

He lost all concept of time while he worked on his little brother's girlfriend, the witch he believed would one day join their family. He didn't pay attention to the sounds of battle all around him. He did not hear the roar of victory when Harry defeated Voldemort.

He was just as lost in his misery as Hermione was in hers.

Sometime later, he vaguely noticed that others had arrived and were crouching down beside him. Ron. Harry. That strange Lovegood girl, and beside her, Neville Longbottom. By that time, Hermione's thrashing had stilled. She was lying on the hard, stone pavers, silent. Too silent.

Harry was the first to speak. "What happened?" Then, "'Mione…..'Mione, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Oh God….is she…...' _Mione_!" Ron cried out in a terrified panic, quickly feeling for a pulse. He let out a strangled sob of relief when he detected a faint throbbing underneath his fingers.

Molly finally pushed through to see what was going on. She checked Hermione over, then said to Arthur, "She won't be helped here. We need to get her to St. Mungo's. Quickly."

Hearing that, George broke down and cried like a little child, past caring if anyone saw. "Granger…..I'm so, _so_ sorry…..I….I swear I didn't mean to…..." he babbled on, not knowing if he sought absolution or if he felt he owed Hermione an explanation. His sobs tapered off when he noticed movement. Hermione was shifting in a feeble attempt to rise. Struggling against the pain she fell back down, too weak and too hurt to make any headway. Panting, her eyes fluttered open. George's breath caught; for a heartbeat, there was quiet. Then Luna's scream pierced the silence.

Horror gripped the hearts of those around the fallen witch.

Instead of seeing Hermione's expressive brown eyes, those beloved chocolate orbs that had always showcased so much of her character, her friends now saw only an oily black substance with a consistency much like tar filming over her entire eye area.

Her sight had been reduced to darkness. Blindness.

The vision of hate.

* * *

_3 years later_

Draco Malfoy pulled down the glasses from his forehead to check over what had been attached to his clipboard. He hated that he now needed readers, but he guessed that was what happened when one spent years poring over poor copies of obscure texts. He wanted to see what St. Mungo's had scheduled for his orientation, for it was his first day on duty as a fully-trained healer at the facility. He felt a bit of an uncharacteristic nervousness that morning, so much so, he left off his habit of three cups of strong tea to have with his breakfast of scotch eggs. But he knew it had more to do with being back on British soil than anything else.

After the war and his trial, he'd left England to study abroad in France. There, he'd gained an apprenticeship with one of the healers at the wizarding hospital in Paris. He'd thrown himself into his studies, learning as much as he could, all the while doing his best to remove himself from the stain of his past. Although, ironically, it was his past that helped him succeed beyond his peers. At Paris, Draco became the top trainee due to his intimate working knowledge of dark spells. It was why St. Mungo's sought him out immediately after he'd gained his Mastery.

Healer Robbins smiled as he made his way down the hall to greet the young healer. It was not the first time Draco had met the kind colossus of a man. The older wizard's heritage was a poorly kept secret; most knew he had giant blood in him; it would account for why he towered over everyone except Rubeus Hagrid. It was why he trusted his gut feeling to seek Draco out. Having an origin that was partly non-human, he knew firsthand the unreasonableness of prejudice; he'd lived under the weight of stares and whispers. Of fear. He knew why young Malfoy had fled from Britain. He also knew why he'd wanted him to return.

"Good to see you, Mr. Malfoy," he said as he reached out to shake Draco's hand. "I can't tell you how delighted I am to have you on board."

"Thank you. I was honored by your request to have me on your staff," Draco replied, although shocked would have been a better description of his reaction after receiving the owl from the Chief of Staff offering him a position.

Healer Robbins tutted. "Paul Gossain and I go far back. He's kept me apprised of your work in Paris." Then he winked and for a second, Draco was strongly reminded of his former headmaster. "I believe my old friend is quite provoked with me. He accused me of stealing his star student right from under his nose."

Draco blushed at the elder healer's praise even as he chuckled. "Most kind, Sir."

"Not at all. Your research on the treatment of Unforgivables is ground-breaking. And that brings me to why I wanted you in particular."

Draco's smile slipped when he regarded the other man's serious face. "What is it?"

The older wizard sighed. "I probably should let you get settled in first before I show you; then again, it is the primary reason why I sought you out." He struggled with his thoughts for a few seconds before he seemed to make up his mind. Looking at Draco's baffled countenance, he urged, "Come with me."

Laying the clipboard back on the counter, Draco followed Healer Robbins as the man led him through a seemingly endless maze of corridors until they came to a stop before a heavily warded door.

"Allow me to introduce you to St. Mungo's newest permanent resident," he said grimly. "One of our more tragic casualties of the war."

The door swung open to reveal a room that looked bare. Sterile. Cushioned walls had been erected to obviously protect the patient from self-harm.

 _Institutionalized_ , thought Draco. _Poor soul_. Probably rendered mad by the _cruciatus_ curse. Just like Longbottom's parents.

Looking around, he saw that instead of a hospital bed, a nest of ripped linens separated the patient from a thick, carpeted rug where she was now sleeping, twitching every so often as if even in sleep, she could find no rest.

Healer Robbins looked down sadly at the pitiful sight. "Behold England's brave heroine….the Chosen One's best friend….now reduced to this. It breaks my heart."

Draco's jaw dropped. Surely not. It couldn't be. Not…..not…..

"Granger?" he whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he couldn't name.

Rousing at the sound, the woman lying on the floor opened her sightless eyes. Draco gasped at the black voids trying to see him. She turned this way and that, as if trying to pinpoint where the stranger stood. She knew it wasn't Healer Robbins; she was familiar with the older healer's aroma; it was always heavy with the fragrance of woodsmoke and potions and pipe tobacco. This one smelled different; lighter and faintly familiar. Their scent reminded her of apple tarts and peppermint.

Draco cautiously approached his former classmate. He'd seen a lot during the war and even more during the three years he'd studied in France. He'd thought himself immune to shock from a person's condition. But he was powerless to stop the tears that began to form in his eyes. He felt their sting while examining the girl he'd bullied as a child. He never would have recognized her as the bossy swot who had dominated the classrooms at Hogwarts or as the warrior who had endured torture from the hand of his crazed aunt. The patient before him was frail. Hermione's once abundant hair had become thin and brittle and hung lifelessly about her hollow cheeks; he imagined he could break off the limp strands with a mere twist of his fingers. She had always been petite, but now she appeared even smaller. Shrunken, somehow. He noticed the nightgown she had on was hanging on her, several sizes too large.

"Have her measurements been taken since she was admitted?" he asked the healer beside him.

The good doctor nodded. "Oh, yes. Several times. For reasons unknown to us, the curse that hit Miss Granger caused a type of, for lack of a better term, smallness effect."

What Healer Robbins didn't want to say in front of the patient was that the _smallness effect_ continued to this day. He'd seen a pattern in the three years she'd been under his care. Every time one of her visitors worried over her, her nails grew shorter, as well as her teeth. Anytime she overheard one of the medi-witches discussing her health, she would lose a few centimeters in height. It was as if she'd processed every concern as critiques, as insults upon her person. He'd wondered if the emotions George had set loose during the Battle of Hogwarts had somehow warped Hermione's judgment, because since that time, she saw everything as a slight, and her body acted accordingly. It withdrew from what it perceived as hurts. Because of it, Healer Robbins was the only one left authorized to treat her. To even see her. All visitation rights had been suspended until a viable working treatment could be found. The restrictions had been harsh, but the elderly wizard had had no choice. His patient would not survive if the pattern was allowed to continue.

Standing off to the side, he silently watched as Draco carefully examined the muggleborn. He knew he had taken a risk hiring him. Some of his colleagues had argued against it. They said he would cause trouble. Others had been more direct and declared he would _be_ trouble. At first, he'd wondered if they were right. What if Mr. Malfoy made Hermione worse? He knew of their turbulent past. Would the presence of a rival make Miss Granger shrink even further within herself? Would she become even more confused? In the end, he decided to stick to his wands and hire him anyway. The potential benefits would be worth the risk. Now he was glad he'd stuck to his convictions. He could tell already that Draco Malfoy was born to be a healer. He was intelligent, but more than that, he _cared_. It was obvious in his measured movements and in his thoughtful handling of the patient. The older doctor felt vindicated; in spite of what some of his peers had predicted, he now saw that he had done well bringing the former death eater here.

When Draco looked up to ask him a question, the older healer put his finger to his lips. Then he pointed to the door. Draco immediately understood the doctor didn't want him discussing anything in front of Hermione.

"Miss Granger, we'll be back shortly. I'm just going to show our new healer where he can find the supplies to finish your examination."

"My examination...do you mean my Newts?" Her bottom lip began to tremble. "You…..you think I failed, don't you?"

Draco watched, agast, as she visibly recoiled. But then he remembered Healer Robbins' words and connected the dots. _Smallness Effect._ Hermione wasn't pulling back…..she was _diminishing_. The physician in him immediately sought to counteract it.

"Of course I don't think that, Granger," he soothed. He gently touched her shoulder. "When have you ever failed an exam?"

She cocked her head curiously. "You know me?" Then a sudden sob tore from her throat, surprising Draco in its intensity. "Oh God, Harry, is it _you_?"

Healer Robbins didn't give Draco a chance to reply. "No, my dear, it's not Harry; it's our new healer who's been assigned to your care. Please give us just a moment," he soothed. "We're going to step out to retrieve your potions." Then he took Draco's arm and all but pushed him out the door.

"What was that about?" asked Draco as soon as the door was closed.

Healer Robbins sighed apologetically. "Her symptoms become worse whenever she thinks it's one of her former friends who are in the room."

 _Her former friends?_ thought Draco. Out loud he asked, "Are they not still her friends? Potter and Weasley?" _And all the other bloody heroes?_

He shook his head. "It's a unique case. I'll brief you later, but right now, we need to get back in there, or she'll think we're abandoning her, too."

"Can you tell me why she's so confused?" Draco had never seen Granger be anything but brilliant. The woman they'd left back in the room was anything but.

What a tragedy. Draco felt a profound sadness. Such a dreadful condition for anyone, let alone for the brightest witch of their age.

Hermione Granger didn't deserve this.

"Later," the older healer repeated his promise.

* * *

 **A/N:** Many, many thanks to **Annamonk** , whose ideas and imagination will be shaping much of this story. I don't know anyone else who has such an insight into the healing power of love as does the sister of my heart.

The inspiration for the condition of Hermione's eyes came from a Star Trek Next Gen's episode entitled, _The Skin of Evil_.


	2. Chapter 2

_“I used to give too much importance to reason until I discovered the world was shaped not by reason but by emotion” ― Bangambiki Habyarimana_

  
  


It was much later, after a full day of patient calls and minor surgeries that Draco found himself with Healer Robbins at the Leaky Cauldron enjoying a supper of cottage pie along with a pint of butterbeer. The older man insisted that Draco call him by his given name when they weren't on duty. McTavash, or Mac to his friends, wasted no time filling him in on Hermione's sad tale. 

"I don't understand," Draco confessed when Mac stopped to take a large pull from his mug. "You keep saying _hate_ did this. But George Weasley never hated Granger." 

On the contrary, he recalled the entire Weasley family adoring her. One in particular. 

_Weaselbee._

Draco unknowingly stabbed his next bite of pie.

Mac noticed the vicious jabbing and idly wondered what the young man could have been thinking to have caused it. "That's true. But Mr. Weasley had just seen Dolhov murder his twin. The hate he felt at that moment was somehow transferred to his wand. He'd not tried to cast a hex, but Hermione was struck regardless."

Draco shook his head, astonished at such a thing. "Incredible."

"Now you know why I wanted you at St. Mungo's. I was hoping you might have some insight.”

“I?” Draco asked with an incredulous look on his face. Was the doctor implying he was an authority on hate because he had once been a death eater?

“You did go to school with Miss Granger. I know your relationship with her was frosty, not to put too fine a point on it. But still, you’ve known her for years. I’m optimistic that your prior acquaintance with Hermione, combined with the progress you've achieved in your research, will somehow shed light on how we can stop the continuation of her regressions."

"I hope I do your faith justice. But hate, in and of itself, is not exactly a dark art."

McTavash gave him a pointed look. "Isn't it? What then is the impetus, the motivation behind casting evil curses in the first place?"

Draco stared back. _Huh._ The good doctor had a point. He'd just never thought about it that way before. 

Was the emotion, the intent behind the curse the thing that made it dark? Was it the caster's feelings that bestowed the malevolent power in it? The _cruciatus_ curse immediately came to mind. 

_You have to mean it……..._

"There is so much we don't know," Mac said. "The impact of a man's mind, will and emotions, his very soul if you will, on the world around us is complex and fascinating. There is a metaphysical component to it all that boggles the mind. We've barely scratched the surface into understanding it."

"Isn't that a bit outside our field of expertise, though?"

McTavash acted like he hadn't heard Draco. Twiddling a breadstick between his finger and thumb, he mused, "I've heard there's a theory among muggles that our very feelings are spiritual energies, that they have power. Indeed, there are some who consider them having as much impact on reality as actions." He looked into Draco's piercing grey eyes. "You know, I think they might be onto something," he admitted, tapping the table with the breadstick for emphasis. "Think about it. It would certainly explain what happened to Miss Granger. Neither Mr. Weasley's mind nor his will activated his wand. It was his emotion, the sheer power of the rage he was feeling, that did it." The doctor's eyes became dreamy. "Now…...that makes me wonder…….could the opposite be true? Could a positive emotion trigger a dynamic for good?" 

"You mean in the way of …...ah, the only thing that comes to mind…..something in the manner of a patronus? They're caused by positive memories."

"Yes, I suppose something of the like. But stronger. A patronus utilizes a happy memory to energize a spell, but what if an emotion…..it would have to be a very powerful one….."

"Like love?" asked Draco before he could stop himself.

"Yes. Like the deepest kind of love. What if the emotion alone could cure an illness? Or even bring back a loved one from the other side of the Veil? Can you imagine the possibilities?"

Draco, holding a pint to his lips, paused. Was that meant to be a rhetorical question? Or did the doctor seriously expect him to answer?

Mac saved him the bother. "It would change the world as we know it."

Draco stared across the table at the man. If he didn't know better, he would have thought him deep in his cups. But this was Healer Robbins, one of the most highly regarded and learned healers in the whole of England. Nevertheless, what he just said……. 

Love curing a disease? That was outrageous enough…..but bringing back the dead? 

Draco mentally scoffed. Honestly, he was surprised at the man. 

_Of all the things for us to talk about!_

They were healers, not shamans. They dealt in magical facts, in proven, tested spells, not in some kind of hairbrained hocus-pocus. Draco didn't see the benefit in daydreaming like a couple of Hufflepuffs high on Euphoria Elixir.

Still, the older man was looking at him, waiting for his reaction. Feeling terribly uncomfortable, he uttered yet again, "Incredible."

* * *

The next day, Draco went to visit his primary patient before breakfast. He'd agreed with Healer Robbins that he should not delay in revealing his identity to Hermione; if she was going to react negatively to him, they needed to know at the onset of his treatment of her. 

Walking through the wards, he quietly entered her room, his dicti-quill floating behind him. He was rather proud of the modifications he'd made to it. He'd invented a reversal to his _legimens_ ability, enabling the quill to receive and notate his thoughts and observations for each patient. It was a handy little spell and had saved him countless hours of charting during the days of his apprenticeship. 

Already awake, Hermione was standing up, her bare feet unsteadily padding along the baseboard of the cushioned wall, her forehead braced against it as her fingers traced across its soft surface. 

Before Draco could say a word, she broke the silence. "It's you again. The new one."

Covering his surprise, he asked, "How did you know that?"

"Your smell. Apple tarts…..this time mixed with bacon. It was peppermint before."

Draco couldn't help but smile. He'd had a rasher of bacon with his toast that morning. "Well, I hope it's a pleasant scent to you."

A whisper of a smile broke out on her thin face. "Yeah. It is. Makes me feel kinda hungry."

Chuckling, Draco said, "Excellent. I'll call the kitchens to bring up a proper breakfast, then."

In no time, a medi-witch knocked on the door with the meal Draco had ordered. The tray was heavy with a service for tea and a bowl of steaming oatmeal. Beside it was a saucer of fresh berries. Draco carefully led Hermione to a small table and chair by the window and served her, making sure he added a generous amount of sugar and cream to both. 

_Merlin knows, she could use the extra calories._

Placing the spoon in her hand, he watched intently, the quill scribbling away his thoughts as he observed Hermione feeding herself.

"Mmm…..oh, yum," she moaned in delight after she’d swallowed a mouthful.

Draco nodded to himself, pleased that he’d remembered what her favorite breakfast had been at Hogwarts. Obviously, she still favored it over the standard sausage and eggs the hospital served to its patients. He made sure she ate every bite, then afterward poured a cup of tea for her, again being generous with the sugar and cream, and placed it in her hands after placing a non-spilling spell on it. He didn't need to be treating her for burns on top of everything else. 

"You make good tea," she complimented after the first sip.

When she'd managed to finish the drink, Draco took it from her and placed it on the table. Then he gently grasped her hands and helped her to stand. 

"All right, Granger," he said in his cheeriest bedside manner. "I'm just going to check on a few things, so bear with me."

"Things? What things?"

"Nothing painful or embarrassing, I assure you," he said. "I just need to establish a baseline to have something to compare to for the future. Also, when I was looking over your chart, I saw you had complained about recurring dizziness. I'll need to check that, too. But I warn you…….." he said, a hopeful grin beginning to bloom on his face, "if I see you listing starboard from the weight of that massive breakfast you just had, I'm blaming your appetite, not vertigo." 

He held his breath and waited to see what her reaction would be to his teasing. He'd stayed up the night before reading Hermione's records and had noticed a pattern in them. Whenever she'd been treated like a victim, when others had worried and fretted over her, her response had been to shrink. But what would her response be if she was treated as if nothing had ever happened, as if she was the same indomitable Hermione Granger as before? Draco believed chronically ill patients needed to feel they still had value. And a good part of that was believing people saw them as _whole,_ not as a pathetic fraction of their former selves _._ Would treating her normally help her gain back what she’d lost?

He wasn't sure. For all he knew, his words could make Hermione worse. If that happened on his watch, he knew the consequences would be grim. Some already thought he'd come back home with no other purpose than to sabotage the war heroine’s health. If he failed, public opinion would make it too hard for him to remain in Britain. Ultimately, it didn't matter if this experiment blew up in his face; he had to know if his hunch was right, even if it personally cost him. 

Thankfully, it had been the perfect thing to say, for instead of Hermione reacting with the awful diminishing he had feared, she actually chuckled. "Say, just what kind of a healer are you?"

It was a shame she couldn't see Draco's eyes shining with relief. "Why, a very charming one, young lady."

Hermione giggled again. Seeing and hearing it did strange things to Draco's heart. He chuckled with her until a flicker of something caught his eye. For just a second, the thick, tarry substance covering Hermione's eyes looked as if it had thinned a bit. He blinked, not sure if he'd really seen it or if the light streaming in from the enchanted window was playing tricks on him. Giving his eyes a little rub, he scolded himself for staying up too late, then went back to checking Hermione's vitals and evaluating her balance. Her equilibrium was not what he wished, but her mental clarity seemed vastly improved from the day before. All in all, it was far more than he had dared to hope.

When he was finished, he led her back to her chair. He hesitated just a second before he said, “Grang... _Hermione…_..that's alright, isn't it? That I call you by your first name?”

She cocked her head in the way he was becoming familiar with; it called to mind the motions of the jaunty little goldfinches that often frequented his mother’s gardens in the spring. 

“I….yes. I suppose so. Why do you ask?”

“Because of how I treated you in the past. I wasn’t sure you would allow me the liberty.”

“Our past?” Hermione paled. "We…….we have a past?"

Although she couldn't see it, Draco grimaced, hating to burst the lovely bubble that had been created that morning. "I'm afraid we do."

She gripped the armrests of her chair as if to brace herself before she asked, " _Who_ are you?”

Here it was then. 

Clearing his throat, he slowly said, “Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione’s face blanked. Then her brows rose in disbelief. “That….that can't be true. Healer…..well, I don't know what to call you….....

Draco let out a long sigh. “Yes, you do. It's Malfoy.”

She wasn't having it. “Okay, stop. It's not funny. Tell me the truth!”

“I did, Granger. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but unfortunately you’re stuck with me. The foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach from your childhood.”

For just a short space of time, Hermione froze. Draco froze too, horribly afraid his experiment was about to go south. Then faster than he would have believed possible for someone in her state, Hermione whipped the wand out of his pocket (how she'd known where it was, he had no clue) and charmed a ferret tail onto his backside. 

“Bugger,” he muttered as he whirled around, feeling his bum’s new appendage swinging with every move he made. Unfortunately, Hermione had also spelled the tail with bells, small ones with a disproportionate loudness that belied their size.

She snickered then, a ruthless smirk of triumph on her face. “Now I’ll hear you when you come, _ferret_ ,” she said. “Your tail will ring with every step you take.”

For a moment, Draco was taken aback. Hermione seemed almost…..threatening? He had not expected that.

 _Well, at least she’s not diminishing,_ he reminded himself, although he could not say the same thing for his professional pride. He stood still, concerned if he moved, it might set her off. Mentally silencing the scratching of his quill, he tried to produce a state of calm for the clearly agitated witch.

It worked. Whatever mood had come over her, it seemed to have been a temporary one. He watched as she slowly settled back down. When he thought it was safe for both of them, he carefully pulled his wand out of her grasp. She didn't fight him when he did it. It would seem her little act of mutiny had quite worn her out. 

_Still…_..

It was a bit disconcerting to see Granger go from an emaciated, feeble woman to a little hellion with the disposition of a garden gnome. The immaturity of the act, gifting him with a ferret tail with bells, although humorous in hindsight, was also a bit unsettling. To Draco, Hermione had always been one of those who acted like they’d been born old. He couldn't recall her ever behaving in such a way before.

 _Did the curse she was hit with create a shift in her personality?_ he wondered.

Now as to her magic….the quill hovering above his head once again started scribbling on the parchment levitating beside it…... 

_After her examination, Miss Granger’s powers manifested, becoming potent, perhaps due to a buildup of unused magic. This magic , as well as her reflexes, seemed excessive for her condition and appeared to have been triggered by stimuli tracing back to memories and emotions caused by said memories. No spell was vocalized, neither were any traces of non verbal magic detected, although the patient did have a wand in her possession at the time of the incident. The charm conjured appeared to have been entirely emotive in origin._

There it was again. The power of emotion. Draco felt that the subject was chasing him down, trying to talk to him.

But a niggling thought in the back of his mind made him wonder if he was ready to hear what it would say.

* * *

That evening, Draco met again with Healer Robbins at the Leaky. He’d wanted to discuss the events of that day with him, although he’d been afraid he would be late; Hermione's untapped magic still packed a punch, even hidden under her affliction. That cursed tail had been devilishly hard to get off.

When he told Mac about what happened that morning , the older man laughed heartily and considered it positive news. 

“And during any time of your visit did you see Miss Granger withdraw?”

"No, none at all. I had decided to document what would happen if I treated her like a fully functioning magical. The results were very encouraging.”

“Yes…..” the older healer agreed, deep in thought about something. “Very encouraging….and very unexpected, too, I might add. I can’t recall a time during the last three years when she's exhibited such a display of confidence.

"Confidence? Is that what you're calling it?"

The older man grinned. "A cursed, blind witch took on a fully trained healer. Yes, I would call that confidence."

"But the immaturity…..that caused me some concern…..."

Mac gave his hand a little wave. "Don't let it. I've heard a few stories about Miss Granger from Mr. Potter…….he’s told me about some of the adventures they had…..and from what he said, she could be a little firecracker when she wanted to be. Besides, wasn't she a Gryffindor? The witches of that house always come with claws. But even if it was a bout of childishness, I wouldn't be too alarmed; being confined for long periods affects humans; understandable, really. Isolation is not healthy to the human psyche. It takes very little to over-excite one when one is used to being alone."

“Or perhaps I merely bring it out in people,” Draco quipped. “Especially with an old enemy like Granger.” 

McTavash pursed his lips at Draco's use of Hermione's surname. "I don’t know if you are aware of it, but do you realize you rarely call Hermione by her given name? You can, you know. You’re not in Hogwarts, anymore. And you’re not enemies anymore, either.”

Draco reddened at the healer's gentle admonishment. He’d not realized others had noticed his reluctance to be on a first-name basis with the witch. 

The old doctor sighed. "Forgive my bluntness. I'm not critiquing you or your skills. It's only…...she's quite alone in the world. She could use a friend…..and so could you, young man." 

Draco ignored the last bit and asked, “Why is that, Sir?  
“Hm?” 

Draco cleared his throat. “Why is she alone? Why did Potter and the rest of the Order abandon her? It’s not like their kind to do that.”

MacTavish’s brow furrowed. “ _Their_ kind?”

Once again, Draco’s face reddened. “Ah…well..…”

The older man saw his embarrassment and knew what it meant. He’d picked up on the unintentional slip that revealed the young wizard's subconscious feelings. For all his brilliance, for all his successes, Draco Malfoy still carried the burden of shame for his past. “Son, it was hardly your fault as to whom you were forced to associated with back then. Just know I consider you equally one of _their_ kind now.”

Draco nodded. He appreciated the doctor’s kindness. Most were not so charitable.

“And as to why she’s alone, I feel responsible, even though most of the blame should go to the Daily Prophet, or to be more precise, Rita Skeeter."

Draco frowned. He knew all about Skeeter and what misery the witch could cook up. But French newspapers didn’t publish articles of England’s most notorious gossip columnist, so he never saw her piece on Granger. “Good Lord. Does she never give it a rest? What did she do this time?”

“Let’s just say she overheard the drunken ramblings of Ronald Weasley one evening a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts and decided the tragic tale of Harry Potter’s former girlfriend was too juicy a story to pass up.”

“But Grang….I mean, Hermione, was never Potter’s girlfriend.”

“Have facts ever mattered to Rita? She likes to sensationalize, so if reality doesn’t comply, she fabricates.” 

Draco could just imagine what Skeeter had overheard from the Weasel. That idiot never could keep his mouth shut. He shuddered thinking of what he might have said while intoxicated. “So how did the write-up affect Hermione's relationship with her friends?” 

How Hermione found out that something had been written about her was what he really wanted to know. The Daily Prophet was not distributed in the hospital. That meant someone from the outside had to have told her. 

“Well, after the story broke out in the Prophet, her friends came _en masse_ to visit. The youngest Weasley wanted to apologize, but what he didn’t seem to comprehend was that his confession would be the worst thing possible for Hermione. When Mr. Potter and George Weasley tried to stop him, heated words were exchanged and a scuffle broke out between them all. There was just too much emotion in that one, little room, and Hermione paid the price for it.”

Draco had a stranglehold on his fork, wishing it was Weaselbee’s neck instead. “What did it do to her?”

“That was when she first started shrinking. The next day, her mental focus was…...well, it just wasn’t. I didn’t tell you this before, but there was a period of about twelve weeks after the altercation when Hermione was bedridden. Her mental acuity tanked.” 

“I don’t recall reading that in her chart.”

“That's because you didn’t. I had it taken out.”

Draco gasped, shocked at the admission. A healer would never erase part of a patient’s health history. It was against every oath they took. For Healer Robbins to admit to doing it was tantamount to confessing a crime. It was falsifying a medical record. 

“Why?” 

The older man heaved a great sigh. “I was afraid of what Rita would do if she got her hands on the information. It’s happened before, you know. Private details being leaked to the press, I mean. I know what you must be thinking right now, but I did it only to protect someone who could not protect herself anymore. I felt our world owed it to Miss Granger. Afterwards, I restricted her friends from coming…..just to be on the safe side. Mr. Potter defied me several times and came anyway, but during his last visit, I confided in him. I think he finally grasped the gravity of the situation, and since that time, he’s stayed away. Although he does owl me weekly for updates on his friend.”

“Blimey. This…..it's horrible, really. I don't know how else to describe it.”

The doctor agreed. “It is. By the way…...he loves her, you know…...Harry, I mean. She’s like a sister to him. I do feel badly keeping him away. “

“Do you think you still need to?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll find out. This evening, for the first time in a long time, I feel hope for Miss Granger. All because of you, Sir.”

“I appreciate that, but I have no idea if today was an anomaly or the start of an upward trend.”

Mac considered Draco’s words. “Let’s operate on the assumption that it's the latter. I think I may pull you from the other patients I assigned you, so you can spend more time with Miss Granger. We can go from there.”

“But….that may do more harm than good. You saw what happened today……"

“Right now, I’m not worried about a random act of rebellion. As you've said, it was a juvenile action, and I doubt you'll be caught by surprise again.”

Draco knew Healer Robbins didn’t understand his motive for keeping an objective distance from Hermione. He would think he was keeping to an unspoken rule; a healer should not get too involved with their patients. But this was different. What the older wizard didn’t know was that he’d always held a fascination for the witch. When he was younger, he’d despised her for it. He’d blamed her and childishly believed she’d bewitched him somehow. It _had_ to be her fault; no pureblood would ever willingly fancy a _mudblood_. 

But now…….now, the truth had him cornered.

And truth was, he’d always…....well, he wasn't sure what to call it. 

But whatever it was, it had always been about her.

_Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

A/N: Sometimes my brain takes a smoke break when I need it to review. I called myself proofreading this chapter, but like I said...smoke break. Let me know if you see any goofs.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

_ A/N: A lot of symbolism going on in this chapter.  _

  
  


_ “Nothing is so healing as the human touch.” - Bobby Fischer _

  
  


Draco sighed heavily, pursing his lips to keep himself from lashing out in frustration. Hermione had been difficult the past week. He should have expected it, but after her initial feisty reaction to his identity, she'd calmed down and for the past few weeks, he had been lulled into a false sense of comfort. 

But lately, she’d been a bloody vixen, a regular Cornish pixie hellbent on creating havoc. On Monday, he'd come in to examine her, only to find she'd gotten ensnared in her nest of linens. Helping her out was like fighting Devil's Snare; the more he pulled, the more she became entangled. And the louder she shrieked. He finally took her in his arms and held her, softly rubbing her back and hushing her as tenderly as one would a frightened child. She quieted eventually, her terrified cries becoming little more than sniffles, but she wouldn't let go of his neck, holding him tightly as if he was her only shield against whatever horror was coursing through her mind. Draco let her, relishing the way her body fit against his. Then he chastised himself for the thought. He was her healer, nothing more. Hermione had enough to deal with; she didn't need a doctor mooning over her like a lovesick pup. Reluctantly detaching himself, he left the room after giving her a large dose of tranquilizing elixir. He envied her afterward, wishing he could dose himself, too, and forget how she'd felt moulded against his body. How she'd clung to him like a lifeline. But it was impossible. His ears continually reminded him, for they rang the rest of the day, all the way until he went to bed and the migraine he'd developed from the stress of it all pounded with a vicious tempo, the rhythm of it making him nauseous and unable to sleep. 

The very next morning, he'd ordered a hospital bed to be brought in to replace the tattered cloths scattered across the floor. The orderly hemmed and hawed at his request until he finally confessed they had tried once before to do that, but Hermione had pitched such a fit, Healer Robbins told them to let it go. Draco, however, was not about to give in to unreasonableness. Bad behavior should not be rewarded; he, of all people, knew that. Had his own parents not spoiled him so, perhaps he would not have been such a colossal brat as a child. Granger was just going to have to get over herself. She obviously needed to be reminded with whom she was dealing; he, Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin Prince, was just as stubborn and willful as she. She would have to accept the fact that he knew more than she did right now and would have to learn to trust him. Sleeping on a cold, drafty floor was not good for her; besides, he thought it dehumanized her in a way, and he was not about to have a part in that again. 

Ignoring the staff's reluctance to defy the tetchy witch, he burned her ratty nest of linens himself and wheeled in a bed for her to use. When Hermione came back from being given a bath to find out what he'd done, he discovered the attendant who'd warned him of her temper had not lied. She kicked up a spectacular fuss. But Draco held steady. He channeled his inner Narcissa and pretended not to notice. 

Wednesday found her in a malicious mood, perhaps a reaction to not getting her way the day before. She kicked him every chance she got. When he came in to check on her after lunch, she chucked her bedpan straight at him. Thankfully, it had not been used, but had she hit his head, which had been her target, she would have made him little better than a concussed troll. Draco's own temper rose, and he had to work hard not to give in to the desire to hex her. Every day after saw some form of rebellion from the witch; it gradually intensified until today when the little she-devil decided she would try to catch him on fire. Draco was busy cleaning a wound she’d gotten earlier that morning when she stumbled and fell on her knee and wasn’t paying attention to her mutterings when she whispered _i_ _ncendio_ ; he didn’t notice until the flame jumped from the potion-filled cloth to his arm. He yelped, jerking his sleeve up so it wouldn’t catch on fire, too. Hastily using an _aguamenti_ _,_ he washed his skin of the flame. Then after applying the dittany and murtlap essence that he’d already had out to use on her,  he looked up, ready to give her a piece of his mind until he saw a tear trailing down her face. 

“Oh, Draco…….I’m so sorry,” she said, looking miserable and ashamed. “I didn’t know…...didn’t  _ realize _ …..that’s what’s been wrong with me.”

Distracted and worn out with her wildly fluctuating mood swings, Draco was nearly at wit’s end. “What?” he asked wearily. 

She sniffed. “I’ve been horrible to you all week. I couldn’t explain why…..I just felt so…..so angry _. Hateful.  _ But then I saw that,” she pointed to his arm. He’d been so busy tending to himself, he hadn’t realized his dark mark was showing. 

“I didn't remember you having one of those. Now it makes sense. It was trying to use me….to hurt  _ you _ . But I won’t let it anymore.” Before he could fathom her intent, she reached out and carefully covered his mark with her hand.

Draco shivered, her touch feeling strange but wonderful. Even though her skin was cool, it burned and ignited a sudden, wild sensation of freedom that erupted throughout his body. Draco wanted to shout or dance or sing…..he almost laughed at the last one, as it was well-known among his Slytherin friends that he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. It was just that he felt the urge to do  _ something _ . The feeling coursing through his body was too strong not to express it. Not knowing what else to do, he impulsively reached out and drew Hermione close. He sighed into the curls that were making a slow but steady comeback. Breathing in her scent brought a restful quiet; a sense of well-being replaced the frenetic joy. He held her, feeling warm and settled and  _ right _ . So right. Hermione Granger was meant to be in his arms. He knew for sure in those moments; it was, and had always been, an incontrovertible fact. He’d never felt so at peace and so…... _ clean _ . A moment or two later, he realized why. The dull ache that had always been present in his arm was missing. Whatever dark curse that had remained within the tattoo was now gone, no longer able to throb with deliberate pain. He sucked in a breath. Hermione’s touch had taken away the darkness. 

"What did you do?" he whispered next to her ear.

She hesitated, unsure. "I….I really don't know. You just seemed to be hurting…..I wanted it to stop." 

Her statement puzzled him. He pulled back to see her face. "So...what you did…..it was instinctive?"

She shrugged her slight shoulders. "I think so. I was just tired of seeing you tormented." 

It occurred to him what she’d just said. "Hermione…...can you see my mark?”  _ Can you see me? _

Hermione stared back, her sightless eyes giving nothing away in their black depths. “Uh…...well, I suppose I can. In a way.”

_ How?  _ he wondered. It shouldn’t be possible. “When did this start?”

“I….I'm not sure….it’s been so gradual. It’s only sometimes and then, only in certain lighting. More like I can detect outlines of auras. With your arm, I could see the hate that had been Voldemort’s. It was embedded in your skin. I…..I think he meant it to kill you in time.” 

Draco nodded like he understood, but he didn’t. Not really. Unless…….being cursed by hate herself made it easier for her to detect other things created by that emotion.

* * *

  
  


He was still puzzling over the enigma later that evening when he bumped into an old friend at Diagon Alley's newest pub,  _ The Rose and Rune _ . Blaise Zabini was just going into the men’s restroom when Draco was leaving it. Both stopped mid-stride, startled to see the other. 

“Draco, Mate, I can’t believe it! When did you get back?” Blaise said excitedly as he shook his friend's hand.

“Almost a month now. It’s good to see you, Mate.”

“Same here. Say, you weren't leaving,were you? You’ll have to join us.” Seeing Draco hesitate, he added, “Come now…..I insist. I know everyone will be happy to see you.”

Draco paused. “Ah…..well, who exactly is everyone?”

Blaise gave his hand a nonchalant little wave. “Oh, you know…...the usual gang. Me and Theo. Pansy. And, well….,” here he took a deep breath, “there is one new member. Ginny.”

Draco’s brows rose. “Ginny Weasley?”

“Yeah. We kind of hit it off after the war. One thing led to another.” He gave Draco a look fraught with meaning. “She’s my wife now, Draco, so she understands. I've told her how things really were for a lot of us during the war. Including you."

There was no doubting Blaise's sincerity; it was shining from his eyes, but Draco hesitated, afraid he would put a damper on their evening. "I don't know….."

"Are you worried about Gin's reaction? As I said, there’s no need. She's accepted the fact that you're one of my best mates and has prepared herself to be friendly should you ever be part of our circle again." His voice became pleading. "It would mean a lot to me if you would come meet her as my wife.”

Trying hard to not show his discomfort, Draco’s mind reeled with the news. He knew Blaise had carried a secret torch for the Gryffindor ever since fifth year. But he thought nothing would ever come of it. Ginny and Potter had been a thing during school. He’d assumed, like everyone else had, that they would stay together.  _ But I reckon not….. _

_ I wonder what drove them apart?  _

Did it have anything to do with his current patient?

Blaise watched as a myriad of emotions played across his friend’s features. “Well, don't take all night deciding…..are you coming with me or not?”

That shook Draco out of his daze. Promising himself he would dissect it all later, he nodded and clapped his friend on the back. “Sure. Count me in.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ Three weeks later _

“Okay…..what can you see now?” asked Draco as he held up two fingers. “And no cheating, Hermione.”

“How can I possibly cheat, you great prat?” she huffed in pretended exasperation.

Draco grinned. Their interaction was often like this these days; amusing jibes laced with humor. True taunts and insults were a thing of the past. 

“I don’t know how you could; I only know that if such a thing were possible, you would know how to do it,” he said. 

Hermione smiled at the backward compliment. He gave her a lot of those. “I see two fingers….is that correct?”

He chuckled. “You know it is, Miss Priss. Now tell me….are you still experiencing dry eyes and itching?”

She shook her head. “Not as much now. Not since you made that salve for me.” She paused, then asked, “What did you add to it? Shrivelfig?”

Draco smiled at her persistence in learning everything she could. The old Hermione was definitely making a comeback. Not that she didn’t have bad days, because she still had too many of those to suit him. But she was noticeably improving. Her eyes were definite proof of that. The black, tarry crust that had kept her vision prisoner was no more. Draco knew exactly when it happened. He’d gone in early one morning to check on Hermione when something on the floor caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a spider. But what it had been was part of the film that had covered one of her eyes. He went over to where she was resting; not asleep, but not yet ready to get up, either. What he saw caused his heart to race. The dark coating was barely hanging on to her eyes, much like an old scab would over a healed wound. With utmost care, he gingerly peeled the remaining casing from her corneas, while continually asking her if she was experiencing any pain. She hadn’t however, and in no time at all, he’d managed to extract what was left of the ugly membranes. What remained was a thin cloudy film that interfered with her vision. But despite that, for the first time in over three years, Hermione could see. The first time Draco saw the chocolate brown of her irises, he’d had to hastily turn around so she wouldn’t see his tears of joy and relief. After he’d gotten himself under control, he sent off a message to Healer Robbins using his patronus, a  Granian winged horse that flew out of the hospital room with a speed that was astonishing. As soon as the older healer arrived, breathless and wide-eyed, he and Draco examined the witch. Unlike Draco, Healer Robbins had no qualms showing happy tears. Crowing with unrestrained delight, he’d grabbed Hermione up in a hug and twirled her around the small space. She laughed, then cried, then laughed again. Then she surprised both her doctors by giving them a heartfelt kiss of thanks; a big buss on the cheek for Healer Robbins, but for Draco, she placed a soft kiss right on his lips. He froze for a second before relaxing and without knowing he’d done so, responding, forgetting they had an audience and giving more of a glimpse into the true state of his heart than he knew. Healer Robbins took note as he watched the tender scene. He’d already suspected Draco was more invested in Hermione’s health than what was usual for a healer. Now he knew why. 

_ I wonder if he knows he’s in love with her.  _

He said nothing, however. He felt young Malfoy would talk to him when he was ready. 

As for Hermione, she reddened afterward, a pretty pink washing over her cheeks. Then she grinned shyly at Draco, and in a totally Gryffindor move, reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his before pulling it up to place a kiss on his knuckles. “I can never repay you for this, Draco. Thank you."

He merely nodded. What else could he do? He hadn't done anything to cause this breakthrough. Certainly nothing more than what Healer Robbins had already been doing. 

_ Except to care for her in a decidedly unprofessional way, _ his heart reminded him.  _ Blast, Mac is looking at me. He knows. _

He couldn't face Healer Robbins, too afraid of seeing confirmation of what he was thinking in the older man's eyes. Had his feelings for the witch been that obvious? Were they what had given back her sight? 

An earlier conversation with the doctor came to mind…...

_ A patronus utilizes a happy memory to energize a spell, but what if an emotion…..it would have to be a very powerful one….." _

_ "Like love?"  _

_ "Yes. Like the deepest kind of love. What if the emotion alone could cure an illness? Or even bring back a loved one from the other side of the Veil? Can you imagine the possibilities?" _

The power of love. Draco coughed, earning him a knowing grin from McTavish. Bugger. The older man had an uncanny ability to read emotions and right then, Draco didn't want him to see and confirm what he feared was living in his heart. Because if it was acknowledged, then he would have to be responsible for it. He would have to confront it. 

But he wasn't ready. Not yet.

_ You're still such a little coward, Draco Malfoy, _ he berated himself.

Instead, he looked at Hermione and seeing her thin face shine with joy, he couldn't help but reach out with the hand she wasn’t holding to brush his fingers down her cheek to her chin. Her eyes turned to him, and for just a second he saw something in them that warmed his heart while giving the rest of him goosebumps. He couldn’t name what it was. Just that it was a …...connection. Something that tied him to the witch. And she to him. A happy, tremulous, barely discernible but vital and  _ real _ something.

Then it happened. Both wizards witnessed it; a type of …...blooming came over Hermione. Not just the happy glow of her blush, but like a rose when it blossoms.

She began to  burgeon . 

Grow.

* * *

  
  


**A/N:** I meant to have this up before Christmas, but it didn’t go as planned. I had a lot more written for this chapter, but I never could make it all mesh together; it felt so clunky. So, I took a large portion of it out, but that only means the next chapter should be swift in coming! 

The idea of Hermione developing healing powers as she is slowly healed by love comes from the always amazing sister of my heart,  **Annamonk** . Also, I want to give a shout out to  **Quintalon** , my Hufflepuff bestie. She read over my chicken scratch of a manuscript and besides being the best cheerleader one could hope for, gave me an idea that will show up in the next chapter. I’m so thankful for their support and the support of you, my dear, wonderful readers. ♥

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ “We must discover the power of love, the power, the redemptive power of love. And when we discover that, we will be able to make of this old world a new world. We will be able to make men better. Love is the only way.” _

_ ― Martin Luther King Jr. _

The next two months showed a steady increase in Hermione’s condition. She ate better, slept better. The fluctuations in mood all but stopped. Her balance was making a comeback. So was her former beauty. Hermione no longer looked like an emaciated shell of a woman; the curves she was born to have began to grow, as did the numbers on the scales when she was weighed and measured. 

And everyday, Draco's feelings deepened. He could admit, if only to himself, that he was in trouble. He was now fathoms deep in love with his patient, or as Blaise and Ginny liked to tease, he had a bad case of luvtosis. It was true, every word of it, no matter how foolishly his friends wanted to express it. Draco was crazily besotted. His nightly habit was putting himself to sleep with dream scenarios of Hermione playing in his mind. Most nights, the eleventh hour would find him surrendering to slumber with his favorite imagining; taking a completely cured Hermione out to dinner to a romantic restaurant where he would propose. In his fantasy, she never hesitated; never said no. She would begin to cry, then leap into his arms after declaring yes, kissing him madly in her joy. In response, he would deepen the kiss, always causing little dulcet sighs to come from her, sweet-sounding moans that would drive him crazy with desire. Sometimes he dreamed about them buying a home, setting it up like two children playing house; making love under the stars, over the kitchen counters, beneath the sheets and beside the fireplace; finding out they were expecting; on and on Draco indulged himself with fantasies of what sharing a life with Hermione would be like. Funnily enough, the one thing he never tried to visualize was a wedding. He honestly didn't give a fig about the kind of ceremony they had. He supposed it was too little-girlish a thing for a man to dream of; what did he care of french lace, orange blossoms and bridesmaid frocks? But of actually being married…..that was another story. It was getting to be all he could think about. He imagined what it would be like to wake up with Hermione's riotous hair, which thankfully was making a full comeback, swirling around him, claiming him as its own. Of sharing the morning newspaper and together laughing at the more ridiculous headlines as they had their tea and toast. Of cooking together. That mental picture always made him smile. In spite of being excellent in potioneering, Draco was an abysmal failure in the kitchen. Could Hermione cook? He wondered if she had ever found the time to learn. He couldn't see how she could have. He envisioned them making burnt messes, then after good-naturedly teasing the other about it, going out to eat instead. Of sweet talking her into hiring a house elf to work for them. Of her growing to love the elf as a beloved family member. Of the elf being the perfect babysitter when they would want a night away to themselves after a busy day with their babies. 

That was another thing. Kids. Draco wanted them. Quite a few of them, if Hermione was willing. He could see his children, all four of them. Two boys….two girls. Curly-haired tots with dimpled smiles and rosy cheeks. A bright-eyed lass for their firstborn, because the two boys following her would need a big sis to alternately tease and admire; two sons, strong lads who would be each other's best friend; and a baby girl to spoil and cuddle when her older siblings were away at Hogwarts. All of them smart little things that would drive Hermione and him crazy with their endless questions, but who would also make life so, so precious. 

Everyday, Draco bottled up his feelings while he was at the hospital. Or at least, tried to. But sometimes, despite his best efforts, they came out. When that happened around Healer Robbins, the older man would give him a look that made Draco uncomfortable. Almost as if he was using legilimency on him. As for Hermione…..sometimes she would cock her head in the way that Draco had come to love and her face would take on an expression that made him wonder if she had similar fantasies of her own. In his mind, he had dubbed it,  _ the look _ , and whenever he saw it, his pulse would race. He’d forgotten himself once and kissed her; it was the day she’d sent a patronus to find him when he’d been in another wing of the hospital. He’d rushed back, thinking he knew not what, only to find she’d sent it because she was missing him. Hearing her admit that was like the releasing of the snitch to his passions. Draco promptly pulled Hermione into his arms and showed no hesitancy, kissing her with everything he had. She immediately responded back in kind, her soft lips pillowing against his before he deepened the kiss just like he’d done countless times before in his dreams. For the space of a few moments, there was nothing else but the two of them lost in the other. Finally, an amused cough pierced through Draco’s dazed mind. In his panic, he'd not seen Healer Robbins standing by the table near the window.

Draco looked up to see him chuckling. “Going for a record, are we? I don’t think depriving a patient of oxygen is a treatment I’ve ever heard of. Was this a technique that was taught you in Paris?” 

Draco reddened, but Hermione began to grin. Then snicker. He couldn’t help but smile back, even though it had been embarrassing to have been caught.

He didn’t know how long he was going to be able to restrain himself; being the only one allowed access to Hermione other than Healer Robbins was becoming such a gateway to temptation. Who would notice if he took her into his arms again and again? Not that it was wrong to shower a patient with affection; on the contrary, families were strongly encouraged to do so, believing it hastened a full recovery. But a doctor-patient relationship was different. Patients were by their very definition vulnerable. No matter how much Hermione returned his caresses, it was not right. After all, he was a healer, not a playboy, and wanted to love his witch, not take advantage of her. But the way things were now, there was no accountability, no safety net, and if Draco had learned anything from the war, it was that man, left unchecked, could justify any action when there was no one around to call them on it.

He finally decided that for both their sakes they needed the reintegration of others into the little, secluded bubble they’d been enjoying. That evening he reported her progress to Healer Robbins and told him he thought it was time to test her by allowing the nursing staff full access to her care. Besides helping him with his newfound lack of self-control, it would be a way to find out the extent of her improvement. Would being around others cause the shrinking to return? Would her attitude revert back to seeing everything as a slight? As an offense to her person?

_ Will I lose my Hermione?  _

He knew it was a selfish thought, but that's how he thought of her now. His. She'd come so far. Made astonishing headway, all things considered. He didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize her progress or the chance of him becoming anything more precious to her in the future.

The first day of the reintroduction had him on pins and needles. He never left her room, except for bathroom breaks. That evening, when it was far past the time for him to leave, he took a look at the chart that had kept his medi-quill busy. The numbers from the measurements taken repeatedly throughout the day danced on the parchment. Taking his readers off, he rubbed his tired eyes and gave his notes one more look. Then he sagged in the chair, sighing in relief, although had he been at home, he would have indulged in a fist pump.

There had been no diminishing. No shrinking. None. 

_ She’s going to make it,” _ he thought with profound relief. With renewed vigor, he jotted a final entry at the end of her chart and signed his initials with a flourish of his quill. 

There would be no stopping them now.

Next hurdle to cross was restoring the brilliance that had earned her the title of “Brightest Witch of Her Age.”

* * *

Hermione's cognitive skills, although still not showing the formidable prowess of former times, were coming along. Some days better than others. Confusion troubled her periodically, but Draco sought to stimulate her mind in some form every day. Now that she had full sight again, he brought in puzzles and games for them to play. She totally creamed him one morning in wizard’s chess and gloated about it for days. He didn’t mind; he was glad to see her personality returning. That engaging nature that had him alternately smirking or glaring, but it was all in good fun. A few times she had even managed to make him laugh out loud, side-splitting roars of mirth that she joined in on. The medi-witches who were witnesses to such displays would smile and wink at each other. It was obvious to all what was going on. The handsome young healer had fallen hard for his patient. Many of the nurses assigned to that floor had cared for Hermione when she’d first been brought in as a permanent resident. They remembered her former condition. The change Healer Malfoy had made in her health the short time he'd been there was nothing short of miraculous, although perhaps it was fitting. A reformed death eater had fallen in love with the very thing he had once sworn to eradicate. 

For the medi-witches privy to the budding relationship, the love story playing out before them was better than a veela romance novel. It caused many a discussion at the nursing station as to how the affair would play out. Would Healer Malfoy eventually cure the young heroine, then sweep her off her feet to elope in Italy? Or would he carry her back to Paris, the city of love? Or would they stay in England and build a new manor in Wiltshire to replace the former ancestral home that had been destroyed during the Dark Lord’s stay? 

Healer Robbins would hear from time to time the excited, romantic babblings and predictions of the nurses and grin; indeed, he wouldn't have been surprised to find they'd started a betting pool on when the young couple would marry. Draco heard them, too, and secretly hoped their predictions were right. He would gladly marry Hermione whenever or however she wanted if she would just consent to be his. 

But amid all the progress and promise, there was still one mystery Draco couldn’t crack; the strange power that occurred whenever Hermione touched another; usually, in response to a need, whether spoken or subconsciously perceived. The latest had been two days ago when Healer Robbins had come in to check on his favorite patient. Draco hadn't expected him that day; he knew he had a meeting scheduled with the board of directors. Meetings of the kind that were like nails on a chalkboard to every chief of staff of a facility. The type that would make one's teeth grind in vexation for hours afterward. 

When the elder doctor entered her room, Draco could immediately tell the meeting had lived up to its reputation. Mac's eyes, usually kind, we're snapping with suppressed anger. His face was flushed; his movements, quick and jerky. In the state he was in, Draco actually didn't want him to be near Hermione, but he couldn't very well order the older man out. But he hadn't realized that she had picked up on the doctor's mood, too. Before he could utter a single word, she placed a soft hand on the doctor's forearm. Healer Robbins immediately stilled at her touch; Draco watched in amazement as the choler that had cloaked him like a heavy shroud fell from his expression. His eyes fluttered shut. Then slowly, a serene smile took the place of the grimace he'd been wearing. A moment or two later, a deep sigh followed. When he finally opened his eyes, a look of peace was in them.

"Thank you, my dear," he said softly.

Draco cornered him later and asked him to explain what had happened, but all he could get out of him was some  gobbledygook nonsense  about a giantess who once had a similar type of healing touch. According to the tales handed down in his family, she'd saved her entire clan from the black death by touching those who had fallen ill. 

Draco scoffed. "Surely you're not comparing what just happened to a fairy tale?"

"Pardon?" the doctor scowled. "Are you implying my heritage is nothing more than campfire stories?"

_ Uh-oh. _ Draco hadn't meant to offend the man. "No, of course not," he said. "It's just….."

Mac's brow rose. "Just?"

Draco rubbed his forehead, frustrated. "Well, I just don't see how it could be possible. For instance, how would this giantess have been protected from becoming infected? We both know she would have been just as susceptible to the disease as humans."

His question caused a knowing smile to appear on the older man's face. Softly, he asked, “Why are you still resisting, Son? Surely your heart has already told you the truth by now.”

“My….my  _ heart _ ?”

“Yes. You’re asking what you already know.” he responded. “You’re just too stubborn to accept it.” 

When Draco frowned, Mac sighed. Putting his large hands around Draco’s shoulders, he whispered, “The thing that protected the giantess is the same thing that caused the healing of her people. The same thing that's causing Hermione's healing now and her ability to give it back. Love. Pure, unselfish  _ love _ ."

That night, Draco went back to the flat he’d leased near the hospital to go over his findings and to comb through any of the older tomes in his possession that mentioned the effect of love on dark magic or natural diseases. He found bits and pieces that alluded to it here and there, but nothing substantial. Nothing he could sink his teeth into. Next, he tried to tie together Hermione's situation with the notes he'd taken while in Paris, but nothing in them quite fit either. 

_ Great. Healer Robbins wanted me here because of my research, but I've got zilch. _

That left him with what the elder doctor said when he’d first began at St. Mungo’s.

_ The power of emotions…...for good…….or for bad……. _

Draco stared at nothing for a long time, caught up in thoughts he could barely comprehend. Hate. Love. The power they had over reality. 

_ Pure emotion must be spiritual, _ he finally decided. _ Only it, if strong enough, can triumph over the natural order.  _

When the clock on the mantel struck midnight, Draco roused. He finally acknowledged to himself that George Weasley’s absolute hatred for Dolohov was the only possible cause of Hermione’s affliction. It was the only thing that made sense.

_ And if that is true, then…….. _

He knew he would have to accept the fact that pure love was healing her. 

His love.  __

_ But why mine? _

Others loved her, too. Potter. The Weasley family. 

Why hadn't their affections helped? What prevented them from working? 

_ What is it about her former relationships that's toxic to my witch?  _

There was only one way he could think of to find out.

He would have to go to the source.

* * *

  
  
  


It had been awhile since he’d been left waiting in Healer Robbin’s office. Harry Potter bounced his knee impatiently, wondering what was taking so long. When he’d received the owl that morning asking if he could come to St. Mungo’s, he feared the worst. He’d left his home in Godric’s Hollow and had come straight to the hospital after sending a note to his boss letting him know why he would be late. He wasn’t worried about that part, at least. George Weasley was a successful businessman, a hard-working one, but he knew the value of family. And he knew Hermione was that to Harry. He’d hired the Boy Who Lived a little over a year ago when he’d approached him about a job. Harry had become disillusioned with auror life; or maybe it was that he’d become weary of the bureaucracy that was part and parcel of a high-profile government job. Not that he was highly ranked, although he could have been had he asked for it; but far worse than that, he’d been deemed the ministry’s  _ celebrity _ . Harry was sick of being the wizarding world’s darling. He was sick of VIP life. What he craved was normalcy; he’d foolishly hoped that after the war, he would have it. But the ministry of magic had not wanted to give up their poster boy for a new and better world. They were content to use Harry to repair their reputation…..only, they’d never bothered to ask him if that was what he wanted, too. Harry finally got fed up with it all and gave them his answer. The next day, he quit. Then he went to visit George. Like Harry, George just wanted a quiet, simple life. He tried hard everyday to bring joy into the world. It was a penance of sorts, as he had never forgiven himself for stripping one witch of it. If Fred had lived, he would have sworn another personality had taken over his brother. To his customers, George was kind. And courteous. That he was also desperately sad, none other than his family knew. Except for Harry. That had been another sadness for George. He’d thought the Chosen One would be his brother-in-law, but that relationship with his sister didn’t pan out; much the same way as it hadn’t for Ron and Hermione. Ginny couldn’t deal with Harry’s grief over losing the sister of his heart. After giving him an ultimatum that had largely been ignored, she gave him the boot instead and connected with Blaise Zabini, who by that time had become the general manager of the Holyhead Harpies. They were married eight months later. 

Last Harry had heard, they were expecting their first child. He was happy for Gin. Glad she’d found what she’d always wanted. A good job. A loving, attentive husband. Not one who was continually searching, looking backwards, trapped in a continually loop of only-ifs and could-have-beens. Lost possibilities for family; lost siblings…….for gone were his sister  _ and _ his brother.

Everytime Ron would visit the store with something from his mother, Harry would find a sudden need to go over inventory in the basement storage. Their close relationship was a thing of the past. It had suffered much the same way as Hermione had; struck without warning by emotions that had ravaged what had once been strong. The fight in the hospital room was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back; Harry’s eyes were finally opened to see what Ron was. What he’d always been. Insecure. Immature. Incapable of controlling his emotions. What Harry refused to remember were Ron’s good points, and he did have them. His loyalty. His humor. And when it called for it, his self-sacrifice. Harry didn’t remember that Ron had offered himself to be tortured in Hermione's place when they’d been taken to Malfoy Manor. Didn’t remember that Ron had given up his Christmas at home just to keep Harry company when they’d been first years. Harry didn’t remember that Ron had lost a best friend, too. More than that, he’d lost his girlfriend; the one he’d secretly hoped would be his future. Harry didn’t or wouldn’t remember those things. 

All he could focus on was his pain.

Just when he’d decided to go outside to the hallway to see if he could find out what was taking the doctor so long, the door opened and Healer Robbins walked in with another physician.

"Mr. Potter, I apologize for the wait, but I needed to fetch Hermione's primary healer as he was the one who wanted to more fully discuss her case with you. Allow me to introduce...or perhaps it would be more accurate to say reintroduce you to Healer Draco….."

" _ Malfoy _ ???"

* * *

  
  


**_A/N:_ ** __ **_Annamonk_ ** _ is my muse.  _ **_QuinTalon_ ** _ is my Alpha.  _

_ The idea of Hermione diminishing came from Annamonk. Hermione being able to heal came from her brilliant mind as well, which is fitting, for Anna's constant kindnesses have done the same for me.  _

_ QuinTalon is a veritable treasure trove of imaginative ideas and is so generous in sharing them. So many loved the bit in the last chapter where Hermione touched Draco’s arm; that would not have happened if she hadn’t suggested it. She also suggested Hermione touching Healer Robbins. I don't know about you, but I adore the idea of Hermione healing the healers! _

_ I am supported by my wonderful dramione family, which includes all of you. I am indeed blessed.  _

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

  
  


_ (from the previous chapter) _

"Mr. Potter, I apologize for the wait, but I needed to fetch Hermione's primary healer as he was the one who wanted to more fully discuss her case with you. Allow me to introduce...or perhaps it would be more accurate to say reintroduce you to Healer Draco….."

" _ Malfoy _ ???"

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_ “But pain's like water. It finds a way to push through any seal. There's no way to stop it. Sometimes you have to let yourself sink inside of it before you can learn how to swim to the surface.” ―  _ _ Katie Kacvinsky _

  
  


Draco paused for just a second before holding out his hand. “Hello, Potter. Good to see you.”

Harry looked down at Draco’s outstretched arm as if the practice of shaking hands was a custom he'd never heard of before. Glancing up, his eyes narrowed at the sight of St. Mungo’s insignia on his former rival’s robes. “What are you playing at, Malfoy? You’re not a healer.”

“He most certainly is, and he’s one of the most promising we have on staff,” Healer Robbins interjected. Seeing Harry’s disbelieving face, he closed the door behind him. “Perhaps we should all take a seat,” he gestured. 

_ And a deep breath,  _ he mentally added.

Rounding the corner of his desk, he sat down in the comfortable leather chair that had been custom made to accommodate his size. Harry and Draco took the two remaining chairs in front. Harry’s skepticism was almost tangible and Draco felt it pulsing, its presence making everyone in the room feel on edge. He watched as Harry chose the chair closest to the door, while giving him a look of scorn, huffing his displeasure. A moment later, he began to bounce his leg, whether in irritation or nervousness, Draco couldn't say. He supposed it didn't matter. He was surprised at the number of tells Harry was displaying; he'd not remembered him being so transparent, but then again, it had been a long time since he’d seen his one-time enemy. He discovered the animosity he used to feel for the Gryffindor was dead, buried along with his childhood grudges and prejudiced views of the world. With the sharp discernment gained from his years studying in Paris, he now saw Harry with the eyes of a healer, and what he perceived made him feel an uncharacteristic pity for the wizard. The Boy Who Lived had not aged well in the years following the war. Deep furrows lined his brow, intersecting his famous scar. His mouth seemed to be set in a perpetual grimace. But his eyes were the feature that really grabbed Draco’s attention. Their startling green hue no longer reminded Draco of new grass in spring, but of noxious fumes…..of bubotuber pus…..

…….of  _ Avada Kedavra. _

It had become common knowledge after the war that Harry had been Voldemort’s final horcrux. Updated history books attested to the fact. But Draco wondered if more than a piece of Voldemort’s soul had been transferred to the wizarding world’s saviour. He looked almost……... _ poisoned _ . From force of habit, his mind began to take inventory of Harry’s physical condition…...his hair was thinning, more than it should at his age. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin looked dull. 

Gods, he looked almost as bad as Hermione had when he’d first arrived at St. Mungo’s. 

_Was this the result of the killing curse being used on him?_ _Twice at that, poor soul._

And to have been cursed by the most evil wizard of all time……..Draco paused, a sudden thought alarming him. 

_ What would the desire to kill do to the one it was inflicted upon? _

He'd seen what hate had done to Hermione.

_ But she had not been George's target like Harry had been Voldemort's. _

Knowing now what he did about emotions, he wondered how damaged Harry really was.

“Well?” the object of this thoughts asked, rousing Draco from his pondering. Folding his arms defensively across his chest, Harry said, “You called me here. It wasn’t just to stare at me, was it?” 

A sound of exasperation came from the other side of the desk, but Healer Robbins tried to pass it off as a cough. Draco straightened and answered, “No, of course not. Actually, we have good news to share.”

Harry immediately sat up, uncrossing his arms. “What is it?”

“We’ve made significant breakthroughs in Hermione's health. In fact…..I think it safe to say we can now anticipate a full recovery.” 

Harry blinked, disbelieving. “You’re joking.”

"Not at all, I assure you." Draco pulled from his robes the medical chart he’d brought. Opening the file, he took a photograph from it. He held it out to Harry and said, “This picture was taken six months ago. Hermione looked much the same way on my first day here.”

Harry took the photo and stared, his forefinger gently tracing her face. 

“Gods, ‘Mione....” he whispered. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in bad shape. 

_ But not this bad. _

The guilt he always felt twisted inside, torturing him mercilessly. 

_ My sister suffered because of me. _

His eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. Looking up from the picture, he stared at the man he no longer knew, who was silently watching him, gauging his reaction. “I swear, I didn’t know…...I had no idea she’d gotten like……..” Harry turned, directing his misery at Healer Robbins. “All those owls I sent…... _ every week _ . You never mentioned…..you…..you should have told me! You shouldn’t have just cut me out of her life. She needed me!”

“Mr. Potter…..as I have repeatedly told you in the past, we had no other choice. It was necessary to suspend all visitation rights. Had we not, she would have died.”

“I don’t believe you. I could have helped her…..I would have…”

The older doctor interrupted his rant. “Forgive my bluntness….but you and your friends were only making matters worse. I’m sorry such strict measures had to be taken, but Miss Granger was our first priority. Not your wounded pride.” 

Draco’s jaw dropped at Healer Robbins’ straightforwardness. He’d never heard anyone, other than Severus Snape, take that tone before with the famous young man who, truth be told, had always had a hero compulsion. Harry looked defiant, yet doubtful; almost as if he didn’t know whether to argue or accept the harsh reprimand. 

Sagging in his chair, Harry finally sighed in defeat. Ignoring Healer Robbins, he said, “Malfoy….. tell me you were able to help her.”

He nodded. “Yes. As I said, she is much improved. Here, see for yourself.” With that, he pulled another picture from her chart. “I took this one earlier this week.’

Harry grabbed the second picture, praying Draco wasn’t just humoring him. He took one look at it and gasped. Hermione was facing the camera, smiling and waving, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. Her hair was shorter, just reaching her chin, but it was once again full, not the thin limp strands barely covering her head. Her cheeks were full and blooming with color. She looked beautiful.

Harry tried to stop it by covering his mouth with his hand, but the two healers in the room still heard the heartbreaking sob when it came, his tears nearly choking him as they gushed forward in profound relief. Harry sat and cried, too overwhelmed to care if Malfoy was a witness to the collapse of his composure, his emotions on display as huge drops fell from his cheeks and nose to land on the picture of his best friend. Watching him, Draco felt he might darn well cry, too. He’d never seen Harry so broken. So vulnerable. Following his instincts, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t know if Harry even noticed, but he kept it there while he spoke softly. “The diminishing we were so concerned about stopped some time ago. Hermione is almost up to the standard size and weight for a witch her age. Her hair is also growing back, wild as ever,” he said, grinning with the memory of how it had looked that morning. Harry sniffed, trying to smile but not quite succeeding. “And as I'm sure you noticed in the picture, the dark lesions that had covered her eyes are gone." He gave Harry an encouraging squeeze. "Hermione can see again."

Rubbing the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, Harry stared at the picture a few more moments, then looked pleadingly at Draco, his face taking on a desperate need. "Please,” he begged, “let me see her.  _ Please _ , Draco.”

It was the first time he’d called him by his given name. Draco swallowed, glancing at Healer Robbins before saying, “I think that’s possible.  _ However _ ,” he quickly added before Harry could dash out of the room to find his friend, “I will need to prepare her first. Her health must still be our top concern; we don’t want to lose any ground we’ve gained. I’ll send you an owl later this week, telling you when to come. All right?”

Harry started bouncing his leg again, but nodded his head in agreement. “All right.”

Healer Robbins stood from his chair. "Well, now that that's settled, I think it's time I relieve Healer Hornsby from the gaggle of residents who have been shadowing him all day."

Harry and Draco stood as well, both understanding the meeting was over. Healer Robbins shook Harry's hand while giving Draco a discreet wink. Harry started to follow him out the door, but turned back around and asked “You'll owl me…..right?"

Draco nodded. "This week. I promise. Just let me talk to Hermione first."

Again, Harry started out the door and once more he hesitated; this time leaning his forehead against the cool wood. He took a deep breath and spoke so softly Draco had to strain to hear. 

"When did she become Hermione to you?”

Draco knew what he was really asking; when had he started appreciating her for who she really was. A powerful witch. An intelligent, formidable female. A precious soul who was more than worthy of devotion and love. A wonderful woman who had captured both from him.

Dropping his professional persona, he confessed, “I always knew she was one in a million and so high above me, it was laughable. I was just too proud and indoctrinated by my family's beliefs to admit it.” 

Harry did not turn to look at him; did not voice either approbation or criticism. He just bobbed his head as if satisfied and said as he left the office, "This week, Malfoy."

The door clicked, closing Draco inside. 

"This week," he murmured.

* * *

  
  


"Finally," Hermione huffed as soon as Draco stepped into her room. She ran over to greet him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You've been gone for quite awhile; I was worried that I might have to have a word with that pretty new medi-witch. Don't think I didn't see her eyeing you up when she came in to give me my potions this morning." 

Draco grinned, secretly flattered by Hermione's possessiveness. "My, my. Jealous, are we?" 

Hermione swatted his backside, startling him. "Yes, and you best not be forgetting it."

Chuckling, he pulled her into his arms, breathing in her clean, fresh scent. "You have nothing to worry about. You own my heart and every affection in it."

Hermione’s face broke out into a wreath of smiles. Draco always said the sweetest, most heart-warming things. It was amazing, really, considering what a cruel little toe rag he’d been in the past. "You know that ownership goes both ways, don't you?" 

Draco squeezed her more tightly to him. "I do. Lord knows I don't deserve you, but I'm so thankful."

Hermione snuggled up to him, burying her face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder while being careful to avoid his stethoscope. Her younger self would have been appalled by her actions. Yet here she was, content as a cat in his arms. It was a wonder she wasn’t purring. That thought brought to mind her short stint as a feline, and she snickered at the memory, wondering how Draco would like kissing her with a furry, whiskered face.

"Hermione….I heard that cackle. Are you dreaming up mischief?" 

"Who me?" she asked innocently, promptly earning a playful glare from him. 

"Yes,  _ you _ . You know, the witch who gifted me with that charming ferret tail not so long ago."

Hermione was hard put not to laugh. "Don't forget the bells. They were an inspired touch, if I do say so myself."

Draco winked at her but had no rejoinder. Resting his chin on her head, he breathed in deeply, relaxing as only he could when she was in his arms. Wrapped around the other, they stood, peaceful and still. Outside in the hall, they could hear the scurry of activity, the odor of the different kinds of healing potions, the murmurs of the medi-witches. But there in their sanctuary, all was quiet. Unfortunately, the calm was short-lived. Hermione heard Draco exhale, concern evident in his very breath. 

"Is something wrong?"

"Not when you’re in my arms."

"Are you  _ sure _ ?"

Draco reached under her chin and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. "You don't believe me?"

"I believe I make you happy, but I don't believe all is well. I know your sighs. That one was troubled. Did something happen today?"

Seeing her expression, he heaved another great sigh. Best to go ahead and get it done, he supposed. "Healer Robbins and I met with Harry today. He is quite keen to see you." 

"Harry? Harry was here?"

Draco looked hesitant in answering. "He was. I'd asked him to come. I told him of your progress. Even showed him your picture."

"Draco! You mean the one you took the other day?" She gave him a not-so-gentle whack. "You said you were taking it so you could have a picture of me!"

"Did I? Oh, I suppose I forgot."

Hermione gave him a look. "Sure you did.”

Draco couldn't help but laugh. "He needed to see your progress, Love. He's been so worried."

Hermione nodded, suddenly feeling guilty. She’d come so far in her health and fallen so hard for Draco during that time, she often forgot that her loved ones outside the walls of St. Mungo’s were still waiting, hoping for good news. Of course Harry would be worried. "How was he?"

Draco hesitated. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want her to fret, either. 

"Draco?"

Figuring she would nag him until he told her the truth, he said, "He looked stressed to me. Worried sick about you, I imagine. But he seemed much better when he saw how improved you were."  _ There. That wasn’t a lie. _

"Did…...did he happen to share any news about the others?"

Draco knew  _ others _ was code for the Weasley family. He shook his head. "Not that I recall. Our conversation was all about you."

Disappointed, Hermione mumbled, "Oh. I had hoped that maybe he had. I keep having dreams about George…….."

Draco found that curious, but all he said was, "I'm sorry."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Not your fault."

"Well, maybe the next time he comes, we can ask him about everyone."

_ Yeah… _ ... _ but how long will that be? _ she thought morosely. Out loud, she said, "Did Harry give you any idea when he might visit again?" She tried to assume an indifferent attitude, but Draco wasn't fooled. 

"Actually, he's waiting for me to tell him when he can see you.” 

“You’re going to let me see him?”

Draco nodded. “I think so. It’s time for my little bird to hop out of her nest.”

The change in Hermione’s expression was immediate. “When? Can you get him back today?”

“Hold on, now. Harry knows we’ll need time to get you ready.”

"Oh, nonsense. I don't need time to prepare if it’s just Harry." 

"Your medical records would dispute that, love."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You’re such an old granny sometimes. Alright; have it your way, then. And quit giving me that look; you  _ know _ you’re a worrier."

Draco laughed. "Only with you, Missy. Well….I was going to suggest that he come on Thursday, but if you’re going to make fun of me….." he trailed off, waiting for her reaction.

Hermione's face showed a mixture of shock, unbelief, fear and joy. "Thurs…..Thursday?  _ This _ Thursday? Oh, Draco…..do you really mean it?"

He smiled tenderly, enjoying seeing the joy on her face as much as if it was his own. He’d do nearly anything to keep her this happy. "I do. Well, unless you'd rather wait."

"No!" she squealed. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” she kissed his cheek and began to bounce excitedly on her tip-toes.

He grinned at her exuberance.  _ What is it with these Gryffindors and their propensity for bouncing? _

"I can't wait!" 

* * *

_ That evening….. _

Although his heart rejoiced in Hermione’s happiness, Draco couldn't help but feel uneasy. He hoped this wasn’t all a mistake, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with Potter. His witch was spot on; he was a worrier, and Harry was worrying him. He didn’t know if his former rival was sick or…...something else. 

A familiar frisson of fear ran down his spine, the kind of feeling he hadn’t experienced since the war. His instincts were warning him. He shook his head, trying to dispel the sensation, but they kept pounding at him like a toothache that wouldn’t go away. 

_ Why had Harry's presence made Hermione worse? So much so, Healer Robbins had been forced to keep Hermione away from him. And not just Harry…...he'd had to restrict the two Weasleys from seeing her, too.  _

Draco knew he’d been a shattered mess after the war, but he’d never really considered that those of the Order had suffered brokenness, too. He’d assumed victory would safeguard their psyches. But apparently not.

After a few moments had passed, another thought occurred. Did his fears really have anything to do with Potter and the possible danger he posed to Hermione….or was he more afraid of the threat he could be to himself? 

Would his and Hermione’s relationship change with the inclusion of her friends once more in her life? Would he find himself pushed away by the sheer volume of those who wanted time with his witch? Would he find himself eventually relegated to the role of healer and nothing more? 

Draco didn’t know. And that’s what scared him most. Recognizing he wouldn’t get any rest until he got this settled within himself, he decided to get the opinion of an objective third party. One who could help him make sense of it all. Moving over to his fireplace, he grabbed a handful of floor powder and stepped in, calling out, "Weatherby Lane, Robbins' residence."

* * *

**A/N:** Poor Harry. Draco is correct; he is suffering. And from things that were not his fault. It’s not fair. But life can sometimes be that way; pain can be part of the package. Even for a good guy who’s always done the right thing. But never doubt this…. so can healing. Weeping may endure for a night. Sometimes, many nights. But the dark doesn’t last forever. It  _ cannot _ . Light will come with the dawn. 

And in its brightness, hope can be found.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

_Sometime back, I asked QuinTalon if this story was too much from Draco's POV. She suggested that I write a few paragraphs from Hermione's POV once her mental clarity was back in force. She suggested writing how "Draco's presence brought light to her world, literally and figuratively."_

_This chapter contains my spin on that by using comparisons on her relationships. We will find out why Draco's love could heal her when her other friendships could not and why her past relationship with Harry and Ron was toxic to her self-worth. I hope you enjoy, and many thanks to the always wonderful QT for her marvelous suggestions!_

**Hate Ch 6**

_I was falling. Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I feel for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. I fell until I forgot I was falling. —Jess Rothenberg_

_I'm not just falling in love with you, I'm falling into you. You're an ocean, and I'm falling in, drowning in the depths of who you are. —Unknown_

When Draco entered St. Mungo's the next morning, he was feeling much more confident. The night before, Healer Robbins had quickly put his fears to rest. "I've seen how Hermione stares at you when you're not looking," the older man had reassured. "The way her eyes follow you…..the tone of her voice when she speaks about you….even the way she blushes when the medi-witches tease her….none of it is the way a patient usually reacts in regards to their healer. Her adoration is very sweet. And very obvious."

Draco let out a sigh of relief. Smiling sheepishly, he admitted, "That's good to know, because to be frank, the feeling is mutual."

McTavash laughed heartily and clapped Draco on the back. "Oh, I know. Neither of you have poker faces when you're together." More seriously, he added, "You love her, Son. That much is clear. And unless I'm very much mistaken…..which I'm certain I'm _not_ , just so you know…...Hermione loves you, too. The affection for friends cannot compete with the love one has for a mate, and that's how you see each other. There should be no worry of Mr. Potter or anyone else of her acquaintance overshadowing your importance in her life."

Then the doctor went on to congratulate him and even offered to stand with him when the time came for them to be married. Draco told McTavash he was jumping the gun, but the big man only laughed and good-naturedly teased him to get a move on. In all honesty, Draco had not thought they were anywhere near to that stage yet, but after it was mentioned, he couldn't help but wonder if he should go ahead and pick out a ring…..just in case.

 _But you haven't even formally entered into a courtship,_ his upbringing protested. The pureblood etiquette he'd been raised to follow scorned the very idea of a proposal before negotiations.

His heart countered, _That's not your fault. Dating opportunities are rather thin on the ground when one's girlfriend is confined to a hospital room. Besides, Hermione doesn't care whether she's been properly approached or not. She wants you, not a contract._

Still, his conscience persisted. _You don't want her to feel cheated or disrespected. She deserves better._

Finally, his common sense kicked in and ended the discussion. _Yes, she does deserve better._ _So don't make her wait. You can always take her out as your bride later on._

Agreeing with himself that pragmatism outweighed the antiquated customs of the magical world, Draco went to Toc's Treasures, a goblin-owned jewelry store on Diagon Alley, right before lunch. Together with Tyhkeld, the son of Toc, he picked out the perfect ring for Hermione; one that would have special meaning. He selected a stunning chocolate diamond solitare from the Argyle diamond mines in Australia. The sparkling cognac color of the ring immediately brought to mind Hermione's eyes flashing gold whenever she debated a topic that was near to her heart. And being from Australia was Draco's tribute to her parents, who still lived there under the names of Wendell and Monica Wilkins and went about their days unaware of ever having had a past existence in England or a witch as a daughter.

Once that was done, Draco stopped by the tiny bistro on the corner next to Flourish and Botts and purchased two take-out containers of Mulligatawny soup and an order of crusty buns, piping hot and fresh out of the ovens. Balancing his cargo, he disapparated right into Hermione's room where she was waiting for him at her table.

"Ummm…..that smells divine," she murmured. "I was wanting something different today."

Together, they ate their meal, both comfortable with the silence that interspersed their conversation about Harry's upcoming visit. Draco, his thoughts drifting to the precious velvet box in his trousers; Hermione, to how handsome Draco looked. The full beard he'd been sporting when she'd first regained her sight was gone. It had been replaced with a tidy scruff that had all the nurses looking at him longingly, even the ones who were happily married.

"What is it? Is there something on my face?" he asked, catching her stare. Taking his napkin, he gave the area around his mouth an extra swipe.

Hermione shook her head. "I was just enjoying the view, love."

Draco winked. "Of course, how could you not? You're one lucky witch, Granger."

Snorting, she said, "I'll chance possible death of suffocation from your expanding ego by agreeing. Yes, I am one lucky witch, and I know it." She reached for his hand. "I am blessed to have you."

Draco didn't say anything, but his face softened and the mischievous twinkle that had been in his eyes was replaced by something infinitely warmer. Bringing her hand to his lips, he gave it a kiss, then leaned over the table to give her mouth one, too.

"You know what I think?" she asked after he sat back down.

"What's that?"

"I think we should go on a double date with Harry once I'm out of the hospital."

Draco took a bite of his roll. After washing it down with a sip of tea, he asked, "Okay, where did that thought come from?"

A shy smile appeared on her face. "Well….I was thinking…."

"Naturally."

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. Draco chuckled and was tempted to throw a roll at her just to see what she would do. He loved her in this mood. She was just so darn cute whenever she acted like a sassy little witch. It made him wonder what raising a daughter would be like, should they ever be fortunate enough to have one.

"It's just…...I want Harry to have someone else besides me, you know?"

Draco cocked his head, unknowingly having picked up the habit from watching Hermione do it so often. "And you want this because…?"

The shy smile returned. "Because I now have other interests that will require my time."

"Indeed, you do, Miss Granger. You'll be quite busy," he said with a devilish grin, her words secretly thrilling him. "So who did you have in mind for him?"

Hermione's eyes took on a faraway look. "I was thinking about Luna."

"Luna Lovegood?" Draco paused. _Loony?_ "Ah…..is she still in England? He thought he remembered Ginny mentioning that the eccentric blonde had moved to Egypt in an effort to discover if a certain strain of magical scarab still existed.

"I don't know. But even if she's out of the country, Luna would come back if I asked her to. Especially if my request had anything to do with Harry."

Draco's brows rose. "Seriously?"

Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes. Ginny never knew, so don't you tell, but Luna's always been crazy about him."

"She's always been crazy, all right," he muttered.

Ignoring that remark, Hermione said, "When Harry asked her to go with him to Professor Slughorn's party, I'd never seen her so happy. I….I think they would be good for each other….don't you think?"

He eyed her curiously. "Why do you think that?"

"Well…...Harry's always been….needy, I guess you could say. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying he's damaged or anything, but…" she paused, then shrugged her shoulders, conceding, "Okay, maybe he is...just a bit. But how could he not be, right? His childhood was terrible, and his adolescence was ruined by a madman."

Draco reached over to touch one of Hermione's curls. "I think more than Harry can claim that, love."

She couldn't argue with that. Nearly everyone in their year had been profoundly affected by the Dark Lord. Draco's life had been especially hard. He'd had to actually live with the monster. But at least, Voldemort hadn't been inside his head.

_No, he'd only been branded on his arm._

That was true. Like a magical pager, the dark mark had buzzed him with pain whenever Voldemort had desired it, summoning his inner circle like well-trained dogs. Something that Draco had not wanted once it had come time to do it, even though he'd wished for it as a child. His marking had been a punishment. Voldemort had wanted Draco dead.

_Just like he'd wanted for Harry._

Hermione shivered. Putting aside that troubling thought, she said, "That may be, but that doesn't change the fact that Luna could help him. She's the most understanding and non-judgmental person I know. She wouldn't think his experiences were strange because…"

"That would be like the pot calling the kettle black. I get it."

Hermione arched her brow in a perfect imitation of the wizard before her. "I see no problem with being compatible. After all, _we_ are."

"You think we're alike?"

"Oh, Sweetheart, I _know_ we are. We're both brilliant, passionate…"

Draco's eyes darkened at the word. Images of the two of them, bedsheets twisted around their bodies as they made love filled his mind and quickened his heartbeat.

Hermione noticed the change in his expression and guessed what had brought it on. Her face reddened, but the shaky intake of her breath told Draco the truth. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

 _Well, that won't do,_ he thought and patted the bench beside him. "Come here, love."

Moving over, Hermione cozied up under his arm but that wasn't good enough for Draco. Transferring her to his lap, he angled her chin and gave her a kiss that left her in no doubt of where his mind had been. Afterward, he whispered against her lips, "We _are_ passionate. I can't wait to find out _just_ how much we are."

Gulping, Hermione shifted, suddenly aware of a throbbing pull coming from the center of her being. She blushed once more, this time from feeling the rush of heat all over her body. "Draco….." she said warningly.

He laughed then. "Uncomfortable, love? Now you know what I'm always experiencing when I'm around you."

That did it. The spell broken, she whacked him in the arm. "Arse. Did you do that on purpose?"

He grinned, unrepentant.

"If you're through tempting me, may I now finish my thought?

"I'll never be through with _that_ ," he said with a cheeky wink, "But go ahead. Be my guest."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "I was going to say that I think we're both dedicated and hard-working and…"

"And what?"

"Better looking than the rest of our friends, but I think your ego has been fed enough today."

Draco laughed. "I think you forgot _modest_ in your description."

"I _am_ modest. The jury's still out on you, though."

Hmmm…...well, it's rather hard to be humble when one can so easily turn a strong witch into a puddle of goo."

Hermione jabbed him with her elbow, but couldn't help laughing. The posh drawl of Draco's voice that had once irritated and grated on her nerves now amused her endlessly. He made her happy, and she was constantly amazed with the level of attentiveness he showed, not just as her healer but as her….boyfriend? Suitor? _Lover_ came to mind, but she couldn't call him that. Not yet. But soon, she hoped. She felt it was only a matter of time before it became a reality. Draco didn't play games; not anymore. He no longer cared about power plays. Hermione knew he was serious about her…...that he cherished her. He proved it every day.

In contrast, it made her see how unbalanced her relationship with Harry and Ron had been. Her friendship with them, the keep and maintenance of it, had always been solely on her. She now saw how big that burden had been and for the first time, she questioned why they had permitted it. Why had they been fine with her doing all the work?

Like their _homework._ She frowned, remembering the many times she'd come back to their common room, exhausted by her hours of study in the library, only to find they'd been goofing around, waiting until she'd come back so that they could guilt her into doing their assignments for them.

_Talk about being used. Well spotted, Hermione. You're only ten years late in recognizing it._

Also, the research, the packing and planning and scheming and even a large chunk of the fighting had been hers to bear. The torture. Okay, maybe that was something they couldn't help. She did recall Ron pleading with Bellatrix to take him instead. Still though. The lion's share of the duties had been her's.

Had their lack of sensitivity been caused by the ignorance that came with being an immature kid?

A conversation from years ago came to mind:

" _Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have."_

_Ron replied glibly, his smile taking on a condescending air, "We're blokes, 'Mione. We don't have to do that emotional bullcrap."_

Harry had laughed at his response and Hermione remembered shaking her head but had not challenged them further. And that had been the end of that.

 _Because_ _I accepted their excuse._

She figured it was her desire to please that had made her overlook their treatment. So eager to fit in with the world she'd found herself in, she'd become an enabler. Yet she knew in her heart, they hadn't meant to hurt her. Not really. They'd just been…..what?

_Stupid?_

No, she now could admit. They'd been selfish.

_I was always more invested in our relationship than they were. No wonder they could make me cry so easily._

In contrast, she considered what she'd found in Draco. True, they were older now, but still. His love had no requirements, no stipulations. He wasn't constantly asking for things, _taking_ without giving back. She didn't feel used. On the contrary. It was if Draco had put her on a high pedestal, one where she could now look back and see from where she'd come; almost as if she'd been in a valley of mist or a fog-filled moor that had been the sum of her experiences with the boys.

Never knowing she'd been so blind.

_I thought George had been the one who had taken away my sight, but now I wonder if I'd ever truly seen._

_That is, until Draco gave me sight._

She smiled as she thought back to the day when he removed the lesions from her eyes. At first, everything had been a white blur, and then…..she had seen _him_.

And what she'd seen had taken her breath away.

His earnest, hopeful expression. His trembling lips when he realized she could see him. The swift turn of his body to hide the tears that she'd already seen in his eyes. She realized then how much he cared. It was confirmed when he'd later returned her kiss.

Draco had healed her, in every way possible, by giving all of his heart. Something she could now see she'd never fully gotten from her two best friends. And in the process of loving her, he'd somehow bestowed her with a healing ability.

 _One of the sweet miracles of life,_ she hummed in satisfaction as he unconsciously pulled her closer _. Like always begets like._

She sighed then, then tilted her head to give her beloved a heartfelt kiss of gratitude.

For just a few moments they stayed like that, both lost in the love they shared. Then Draco cleared his throat. "You know, love...….your're almost ready to be discharged from St. Mungo's. Right now, I'm thinking early next week. I wanted to ask you if you would consider staying with me."

Hermione's heart began to race. _Did he mean…._ She pulled back a bit to see his face. "Stay with you?"

Draco nodded, his mouth suddenly feeling dry from nervousness. "My flat is barely two blocks away. We could have you back here in a heartbeat, should any need arise. And it's large….my flat, that is. There's more than enough room."

He was taken aback when he saw Hermione's face fall with disappointment, but all she said was, "Oh. Well, yes, that makes sense, I guess. Thank you for the offer."

Draco immediately felt the chill coming from his witch as she stiffened in his arms. What just happened? Had he offended her? It bothered him that he couldn't read her normally very expressive face.

 _Crap,_ he thought, _I've gone and buggered the whole thing up._ "It's just…..I didn't know if you'd rather live somewhere else. I didn't want to assume," he finished lamely.

Hermione gave him a look of utter incredulity. Draco knew her parents still lived in Australia. Where else did he think she would go? Trying hard not to show the hurt she felt, she said, "I don't want to inconvenience you or be a bother. " Then she added, "You know what…... I could always stay with Harry….."

"NO! I mean, why should you have to?"

Hermione looked up and saw anguish plainly written on Draco's face. Confused, she hesitated. "Well…...I didn't say I wanted to…."

"Please don't, Hermione. I….I want you to stay with me."

"You do?"

He nodded, cupping her face with his hands. "More than you can imagine."

Gazing into his earnest grey eyes, Hermione unknowingly revealed more to him than she knew. Her fears, her past hurts….her hopes for a future with him. "Are you sure, Draco?"

He nodded. "I am. You're smart, love. Surely you know by now where this is headed."

She nodded, but needed more. "For argument's sake, pretend I don't." Seeing he was about to say something, she said, "Humor me, Draco. I need to hear the words. Why did you offer me a place at your flat? Was it because I'm your patient? Just so you could check up on me? Or did you have another motive for doing it?"

Draco now understood his blunder and knew he needed to fix this. Rapidly.

"Darling," he said, placing a soft kiss on her cheek, "I offered because I want you to stay with me; to….to _live_ with me. I want you to never live anywhere else. Do you understand? I want to see your face every morning and hear your laughter every night. I love you, Hermione."

" _Draco_ ," she gasped. Although she'd already known, it was the first time he'd ever said those three, all-important words to her. Her breath stuttered like she'd forgotten how to draw a breath. He was looking at her with his heart in his eyes, and it was too much, too wonderful to bear. "Do you really mean that?"

He lay his forehead against hers. "I do."

"But for how long?" she blurted out. Would the novelty of being with her wear off after a time?

Draco looked at her, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Forever."

Hermione's voice caught on a sob, her voice quivering, "Did you just….oh, Merlin. Are you _proposing_?"

He smiled, although his heart was so full, he felt dangerously close to tears. "It depends. If your answer is yes, then yes, I am."

"Yes," she managed to choke out before he silenced her with a kiss that was deep and heavy with relief, with joy and with promises to come. Then he reached into his pocket and brought out the box that had been hiding there. Opening it, he watched as Hermione's eyes went to the ring he'd picked out.

"Oh, my. It's beautiful, Draco," she hiccuped, still barely able to talk.

Together, they both studied the shimmering stone, Draco thinking he'd chosen well; Hermione unable to think of anything other than the fact that they were now engaged.

Slipping the ring on her finger, he nodded in agreement. "I thought so, too. The color reminded me of your eyes. The diamond was mined in Australia, which I thought was fitting."

 _Is this really happening?_ she asked herself. Draco's love was like a dream come true. She almost felt like pinching herself just to be sure she wasn't asleep. Instead, she reached up and pulled his handsome head down for another kiss. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" she murmured.

"That's a question I ask myself every day," he confessed. "Wondering what I did to deserve such a treasure as you, Hermione Granger."

Those words were the final drops for Hermione's cup of joy to overflow. She felt it when something broke free from her being, the force of it surprising her with its intensity. It was her magic bursting in the air around them, dancing wild and free in apparent rapture, wrapping them both in wispy, ethereal strands of shamrock green. Draco laughed from the sheer bliss of seeing it when his own magic rose up to join Hermione's, twisting itself around her verdant threads, manifesting in stunning shades of amethyst. Hermione gasped in wonder at the sight.

"Purple has always been my favorite color," she whispered, spellbound at the sight. "Now I know why."

Draco pulled Hermione's body tightly against his. "As mine has always been green, as I'm positive you already knew." He paused, then asked, "You know what the colors mean, don't you?"

She nodded. "I do."

Together, they sat watching the display of light and life that was part of their essence. Neither spoke of what they were witnessing.

But both knew what they were seeing. What their magic had revealed by the hues chosen. Green was the color of living things. Purple was the color of authority.

Health and Healing. Wisdom and Spirituality.

Their magic had shown them their future. And of what had always been their intended destiny.

* * *

 **A/N:** I thought this chapter would have Harry and Hermione meeting, but Draco and Hermione nixed that idea. They told me they wanted to have things settled between them before Hermione saw Harry. I couldn't argue with that, could I? And it wouldn't have helped if I had. I'm a mere slave to their whims. A slave, I tell you!

Oh, they're also telling me to inform you that they don't expect to hang around forever with this story. Draco has big plans for Hermione (ahem) and he doesn't want us nosing around while he carries out those plans. So, they're saying two or three more chapters, tops. I told him if he kept saying stuff like that, more people would stick around to see the show. He huffed and accused us of being voyeurs. I told him if he wasn't such a romantic dreamboat, we wouldn't be so interested. That appeased him somewhat, but now Hermione is cheesed off at me.

Sheesh. I can't win. LOL


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